


Pain on File

by KarenHardy



Series: Hardy Three Mysteries [3]
Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon
Genre: Attempted Murder, Broken Bones, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenHardy/pseuds/KarenHardy
Summary: Joe hates kidnappings, especially when people get hurt. And when people means him.





	Pain on File

It wasn't every day Joe woke up blindfolded and tied up, but it was more often than he'd like. He felt around with the limited movement of his hands, finding wooden armrests beneath his fingertips. He was tied to a wooden chair of some kind, and he could tell it had a high back due to the rope around his torso. His ankles were spread apart and tied to what he presumed to be the chair legs. There was a cloth gag in his mouth, which he discovered, upon trying to spit it out was being held in place by a piece of duct tape.

His mind wandered as he sat in the ever silent darkness, wondering where he was and why he was there. He supposed it had to do with a case, but he wasn't sure how recent, seeing as old enemies were just as likely to pop out of the woodwork as recent ones.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in the darkness, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the chair to pass the time, but when he heard footsteps, he stilled.

There was a sound of creaking metal and the footsteps echoed against what Joe defined as metal walls due to the ringing tonality. He heard sloshing liquid and wondered vaguely where it was coming from until his question was rudely answered as frigid water was upended over his head. He shivered as it coated him, his tee shirt and pajama bottoms, not very warm to begin with, now sticking to him like a second skin.

What had to be a set of hands tightened the blindfold and removed the gag as someone began to speak.

“Well, lookie here, boys.” A male voice drawled.

It was unfamiliar to Joe, but that was no surprise, as it could very well belong to someone he'd never met that happened to dislike his father.

“How are you feeling, Joseph?” The voice addressed him.

He debated whether or not to answer. Apparently he took to long to decide as a hard smack came across his face.

“I said, how are you feeling this fine evening, Joseph?”

Evening? That meant he was drugged. He woke up here, and all he could remember was going to bed the previous night, so if it was evening again, he had to have been drugged to sleep through the day.

“Peachy.” He replied finally.

“Ah, he speaks.” The voice taunted. “Don't you want to know why you're here, Joseph?”

Joe was silent until he was smacked again.

“Answer me when I ask you something.” The voice ordered.

“Sure.” Joe muttered.

The aforementioned response earned him another strong smack.

“Show some respect. Your life is in my hands.”

Joe did not respond.

“So Joseph, I need a few things from you. Do you think you can give them to me?”

“Depends.” Joe replied shortly. “What do I get out of it?”

“Ah, he tries to bargain.” The voice chuckled. “How about your life, health, and well being?”

“Not enough. How about you letting me go _and_ all of the above?”

Joe should be used to the smacking by now.

“Don't make me angry, kid.”

“Why?” Joe asked, only to have the wind knocked out of him, a fist making contact with his chest, eliciting a muffled grunt and a sickening crack of at least two ribs.

“Because things aren't good for you when I'm angry.” The voice replied, his tone indicating that Joe's pain amused him. “Now, daddy dearest and big brother are at home with mommy, right?”

Joe knew they most likely were, Karen too, although he was worried why she hadn't been mentioned, hoping vainly these men didn't know of her existence. Mom hardly ever left the house, Frank had gotten home from college a few days prior, and Karen had wrapped up her junior year the week before. Dad was a mixed bag, he could be home, or he could be out on a case. Although, Frank and Karen could be too, if it weren't for the vacation rule. No cases for the first two weeks of any vacation if the situation allows. Of course, the situation didn't always allow, but it's not like that was their fault.

Okay, it was kind of their fault, but what can you do?

He gave no indication to the voice.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear.” The fist made contact with Joe's chest again and he groaned at the explosion of pain. “Are they at home?”

“How could I know? I'm not there to check.”

This time the fist found his cheek and Joe found his mouth pooling with blood from biting his own tongue. He spat it out to the side, satisfied when he heard it hit something that didn't sound like the metal he knew his prison was made from.

“Nasty boy you are.” The voice commented, tutting disapprovingly like a mother would to a small child, “Spitting on one of my men like that.”

One of. There were multiple adversaries in the room.

“What can I do if he was dumb enough to stand that close?” Joe quipped, gaining yet another smack.

He absently wondered if his cheek was turning red and raw or purple and bruised.

“You think you're funny.”

“I hope so.”

As the next smack came, Joe figured purple.

The voice continued to ask if his family was at home for what Joe figured was a few hours, smacking and punching when he didn't reply or came up with a quip instead. The onslaught ceased with his captor chuckling as Joe spat blood again, this time forward, hoping to hit the owner of the voice. Alas, all he heard was it hitting the metal floor.

“Well that was a nice warm up.” The voice teased.

Warm up? That was a warm up to this guy?

“Now we gotta get to the nitty gritty. Where does your daddy keep his files?”

Ah, that sounded more like a question he'd been expecting. His father's files were under lock and key in his office at home, with copies safely stored with his associate Sam Radley, so that even if the house was burned to the ground, they would be safe.

Joe nearly smiled, giddy about that fact. Even if they got dad's copies, Sam's would be enough to put them behind bars, however, he was smart enough to hide his joy for now.

“That's neither of our business, now is it?” He said.

Joe decided that when his family found him, as they always did, his cheek would be akin in color to an eggplant, if it wasn't already by now. Just like before, the barrage of questions continued for a prolonged period of time, although it was probably closer to half an hour this time.

It was then that things changed.

“Not very cooperative, are we? I can change that.”

The unsettling silence that set over them chilled Joe's bones, and he tensed when a rough hand took hold of his own. His pinky was pinched at the tip, bent backward, and snapped.

He cried out, but retained his resolve.

They went through his entire left hand before they gave up, at which point Joe was very glad to be right handed.

But, Joe supposed they hadn't given up, because the question changed, this one freezing him in place.

“Perhaps one of your siblings would make you more cooperative?”

His heart beat in his throat, rendering him unable to speak. A dark chuckle echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and making Joe shake, this time with worry, not just pain.

Footsteps rang out again, getting further and further away until Joe could hear them no more. Joe sat as still as he could, fearful paralysis setting in, overwhelming the worried shaking and the painful shock. When he heard the footsteps returning, they were accompanied by the sound of rubber dragging across concrete. The soles of his sibling's shoes, it must have been. His hands were untied and Joe heard a body hit the floor, before a head was placed in his lap. He ran his hands over it, wincing at the pain in his left, reaching back and finding hair much to long to be Frank's, drawing in a sharp breath. There was a reason they hadn't asked if Karen was at home.

His baby sister was here.

“Karen…” He breathed weakly, voice shaking.

He felt her head move in a nod. His fingers ghosted over her lips but found no gag. Why didn't she answer him?

Apparently their captor had seen his action.

“Oh, she can't talk right now.” He said. “The drugs in her system paralyzed her vocal chords.”

Joe would have clenched his fists if it weren't for the fact that his left hurt so much and his right was the only attachment he had to his sister in that moment.

“Let me see her.” He demanded, his fingers finding what felt like blood on his sister's cheek.

“No.”

Karen was ripped from his hands and he reached for her, only to have his wrists tied to the chair again.

“Let's try this again. Where does daddy dearest keep his files?”

“If I tell you, you have to let her go.”

“Not an option.”

Joe heard the sound of what he knew had to be his sister hitting the wall followed by the tell tale sound of snapping bone and heavy breathing.

Footsteps came again, this time from in front of him, and two hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“We only need one child alive.” The voice was so close now, his captor's hot breath by his ear. “I suggest you comply, or that child won't be her.”

“Kill me then. Leave her alone.”

“Not yet. Where are the files?”

“Let her go and I'll tell you.”

Another snap.

“Where are the files?”

Joe's will was crumbling. He knew Karen was getting hurt by his stubbornness, but he couldn't give them the location of the files and let them go into their house, not when Mom and Aunt Gertrude would surely be there, and possibly even Dad and Frank too.

“I'll let her go after you tell me where the files are.”

“I'll tell you where the files are after you let her go.”

“An impasse. I expected this.” A moment later Karen was thrust into Joe's arms again, the younger Hardy gripping him for dear life. “Say cheese!”

Joe could tell a flash went off because of the momentary change in lighting he could see beyond the blindfold, then Karen was torn away, literally, her fists ripping away part of his shirt as she was yanked from him.

Within seconds, Joe heard a phone ringing, and the man answered, putting it on speaker, Joe able to hear his father's voice.

“Who are you and what are you doing with my children?”

“Fenton, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You son of a bitch. Where are my children?”

“Language, daddy dearest.”

“Metz, if you lay another hand on them, soon enough you won't _have_ a hand.”

Metz. Finally a name to put to the voice. Adam Metz, if Joe was remembering correctly, ran a gang and drug ring called the Roulettes in New York City while Fenton had been on the NYPD. He was crucial in busting their operation wide open. No wonder they had something to mute Karen, they didn't just sell drugs, they made them.

“Hard to threaten me when you don't know where I am, isn't it, Fenton?” Metz taunted, “Call back on video. You won't see anything that could help you find them, but I wanna show you something and your baby girl can't currently scream.”

“No, leave her alone!” Joe cried, knowing that if they were going to do something that would ordinarily make Karen scream, she would get hurt. He knew she had at least two broken bones because he'd heard the snap himself, but they were probably fingers, like his. What he feared was something more drastic.

Metz chuckled.

“Actually, that's a good idea, Joey boy. We won't have to show Daddy anything at all. You can narrate.”

The blindfold was removed and Joe blinked to adjust his eyes. He looked around, taking in every aspect of his surroundings, which was to say, not much. He was correct in his prior assumptions, the walls and floor were in fact metal. It seemed he was inside a dimly lit shipping container, a lantern on the floor the only source of light. Dancing in the shadows were two, maybe three men, plus one including Metz.

Metz himself stood in front of Joe, a burly man with pale, greasy, skin and eyes about the size of marbles as he squinted at the middle Hardy child. He untied Joe's left hand and gave him the phone, painfully curling his fingers around it, eliciting a small whine.

Joe held the phone up to his ear.

“Joe?” His father asked. “Are you okay? Do you know where you are?”

“Bar some broken fingers, I'm fine. I don't know where we are. It looks like the inside of a shipping crate. I-” Metz smacked him.

“No location details.” He growled. “You're just going to narrate what happens to baby sis.”

“Don't hurt her. Hurt me.” Joe pleaded.

“You're not as fun. You may scream, but the way she looks is more satisfying.”

“Joe, what's going on?” His father asked.

“I'm not sure yet,” Joe answered honestly.

From a shadowy corner of the crate, two men parted and a third pushed forward a smaller shape that Joe knew even before she stepped into the light was Karen, but once she did come close enough for the light to show her fully, he could have cried.

Hands tied in front of her, she stared at him, her soft brown eyes begging him to look away. The least of the damage was two of her left fingers, the pinky and ring, bent at wrong angles, clearly broken. She was shivering, probably because she was only wearing one of Frank's shirts and baggy flannel pants, both bloodstained and wet, sticking to her body. The blood he saw came from a long jagged cut along her collarbone, and another along her cheek, where he had felt it earlier.

“Tell Daddy dearest what his baby girl looks like, Joseph.” Metz mocked, coming over and grabbing the rope dangling from her wrists, pulling a struggling Karen closer to him.

“Joe? What's wrong?”

“She's not good, Dad.”

“What's happened?”

“She’s got two broken fingers and two large cuts...” Joe hesitated to say it, but he knew his father should know. “She can't talk, Dad. He says it's from the drugs they gave her. They say it paralyzed her vocal cords.”

“Can she move in other functions?” Fenton asked.

“Yeah. It looks like it. I've seen her walk at least. And she nodded earlier. Dad, I-” Joe paused.

Metz was pulling something from his pocket. As it glinted in the light, Joe saw it was a small syringe. Fingers gripping firmly around her collar, the middle aged man held Karen close to him and injected her. She started to convulse seconds later, the only thing keeping her up being Metz's grip.

Joe's mind was racing.

What was in the syringe? What kind of drug was it? Was it a narcotic? Some kind of poison? They wouldn't poison her this early, would they? No, he told himself, they wanted Dad to suffer.

“Joe? Joe!” His father's voice forced him to speak. “What's going on?!”

“She's convulsing.” Joe's voice was frantic. “He gave her another drug of some kind. I-I don't know what it is.”

“Tell him it's the good stuff.” Metz grinned at Joe.

“He says it's 'the good stuff’. Does that mean anything to you?”

“It’s a drug the Roulette gang invented to use on traitors and cops.” Mr. Hardy was distraught. “In small doses, it causes painful convulsions, tightness of chest, and weakness of muscles. In a large enough dose, it can stop the heart.”

Joe's own heart nearly stopped.

“How large a dose is that large of a dose?” He asked, voice wavering.

“About forty milliliters.”

“He's already given her ten.”

“It's slow acting and there _is_ an antidote. And it can only be administered every hour for full effect.”

Joe would have sighed in relief if he trusted that Metz was going for full effect and not ‘hurt Hardy now, kill second brat _after_ I get what I want’.

Karen had stopped by now and was nearly limp in Metz's grip. He let go and she dropped, unable to support herself. Weakly, she reached for Joe. Metz kicked her.

“Haven't you hurt her enough?” Joe implored. “Hurt me, leave her alone.”

Metz grinned.

“Not enough yet.”

He knelt beside Karen and grabbed a fistfull of her hair, pulling her to her feet. His head jerked toward his men, and they came over, taking Karen and holding her up. Joe saw the glint of silver metal in the darkness and saw the switchblade cut across her chest like a hot knife through butter.

“Stop!” He cried.

“Tell Daddy to bring me the files.”

“He wants the files!” Joe's eyes were wide with terror, unable to gauge his sister's pain, as nothing could elicit a sound. “Please! Stop!”

“Drop her.”

Karen's form fell to the floor, her breathing labored. Joe stared at her in horror. Metz took the phone from Joe.

“Leave the files in the boat house where you busted us.” He ordered. “We'll leave the kids there later. Call when it's done. I'd hurry. They might not make it that long.” He hung up.

One of the men took the lantern and all four, Metz included, left the youngest Hardys alone.

Joe looked at the outline of his sister in the dark, taking Metz's threat to heart. She might not have much longer left. But, was it his eyes playing tricks on him, or was she moving? He watched in shock as Karen dragged herself across the floor and used her limited strength the pull herself up, using the chair to steady herself as she untied his right hand, his left, since being practically unusable, already free.

It took God knows how long, but eventually Joe was free, holding Karen in his arms, his currently mute sister shaking with sobs, the pain setting in after the adrenaline rush that had let her untie him had passed.

“It's going to be okay, Karen.” He assured her, his right hand gently flowing through her hair.

They knew there was no way out of the container, having been trapped in one before and fully aware they only opened from the outside. Untying Joe was more for her own comfort than any kind of escape attempt.

Joe's not sure when they fell asleep, but he's acutely aware of waking up; being roughly pulled away from his sister and yanked to his feet, wrists being bound behind him and then being prodded forward into a car by a gun to his back.

They drove for what Joe estimated was about seventy or eighty miles, and then got out, Joe's watchful older brother eyes following the men escorting Karen.

The Hardys were led into the boathouse, and Joe's eyes widened, seeing the truth instantly. Their captors just said they were going to leave them in the boathouse. They never said they would leave them _alive_.

“No!” He cried. “Just me! Please! Don't do this to her! She's bad enough, _please_!”

“Don't cry so much. That's the plan.”

Joe's bound wrists were attached to the ceiling beam by a long rope, and a weight was tied to each of his ankles. Karen was dropped by his feet, beside her were the files. Metz picked them up.

“Say goodbye.”

“Karen, I'm sor-” Joe couldn't finish, being pushed back and hitting the water with a loud splash, the water covering Karen, drenching her more than she had been when she'd come into the shipping crate.

If she could, she'd have screamed his name.

Under the surface, Joe knew better than to struggle, it only wasted stamina. He did swimming in the summer, so he could hold his breath for awhile, but he knew even that wouldn't last forever. He had to hold out for help.

It took three minutes for his vision to get splotchy.

Another minute later and Joe would have sworn his head was going to explode.

At the five minute mark, Joe was out.

When the air hit him, Joe woke, coughing the water out of his lungs. He blinked a few times and what he saw astounded him. His weakened seventeen year old sister had pulled him up, exhausting her energy. He was halfway on the deck of the boathouse, barely able to stay above water. Karen was trembling, her muscles overexerted, gasping in pain.

“I-it's going to be o-okay.” Joe stammered, still coughing.

She nodded weakly, which looked more like her picking her head up and dropping it from not being able to hold it there. He could tell she passed out a few minutes later, but he didn't dare follow suit, afraid of slipping back into the water.

His mind wandered for awhile, and his lower half grew numb from the cold water. Hours later, he was jolted back to reality by banging in the door.

“Joe?! Karen?! Are you in there?!” The voice was familiar, but Joe's tired mind couldn't register who it was.

The door was broken open and Frank was the first one through, followed closely by their father.

“Joe!” Frank cried, coming over and pulling his brother all the way out of the water, untying his bonds.

“F-Frank…” Joe croaked, right hand grabbing a fistful of his brother’s shirt.

Meanwhile, their father was cradling Karen, helping the paramedics load her onto a gurney outside.

“I’m here.” The elder Hardy promised. “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know. I feel numb.”

“That’s a no, then.” Frank muttered, picking up his brother and carrying him to the ambulance.

The sirens were loud and it was giving Joe a headache as they rode to the hospital, Frank’s strong hands cradling both Joe’s broken and weakened ones respectively.

“It’s loud…” He breathed.

“I know, Joey, but we have to get you there fast.”

“I’m not bad.” Joe protested, coughing. “What about Karen?”

“Karen has lacerations, bruises, and paralyzed vocal chords, but you have waterlogged lungs, additional bruises, and in case you haven’t noticed, your left ankle is broken from the weight.”

Joe hadn’t noticed. He shrugged.

“She’s-” He paused for a coughing fit. “She’s the priority.”

“She’ll be fine. Worry about you.”

“Can’t.” Another cough. “Big brother mode. You know what that’s like.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes.

Frank smiled, happy to see some semblance of life in Joe’s eyes. They pulled into the hospital lot a few minutes later, and Joe was taken in to have the water pumped from his lungs, at some point being sedated. Karen was taken to get stitches and a blood transfusion, not regaining conscious in the ambulance or upon arrival.

When Joe woke again, his chest ached from the pumping and his broken ribs, his cheek was feeling the leftover pain of the incessant smacking it had endured, and his hand and ankle hurt like hell now that the adrenaline of needing to take care of Karen had work off. He was laying in a bed, Frank on his side, Joe's right hand gently cradled in his own.

“You're awake.” Frank smiled.

“How's Karen?” Joe asked, ignoring his own health concerns.

“Straight to the point, eh?” Frank chuckled softly as he exhaled, the undertones of a sigh mingling with the gentle laughter. “She's stable. Not awake yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“A day and a half since we found you in the boathouse.”

A day and a half.

“And she hasn't woken once?”

Frank shook his head, his free hand running through his hair, a nervous tick.

“The doctors say she might not make it. They're… They're trying to get their hands on the antidote for the drug.”

“Dad said it wasn't deadly unless over forty milliliters was injected.” Joe objected. “Metz only gave her ten.”

“That was her fourth dose, apparently.”

“What?” Joe's eyes widened and he sat up, ignoring how his chest objected. “How are they-”

“AED. And constant monitoring. They're able to keep her heart beating for a few hours at a time. But her body can only take so much.”

Joe sat back, his ribs sighing in relief. Tears pricked his eyes.

“We've had close calls before. She'll be fine, right?”

“I don't know.” Frank admitted. “She's never had her heart stop multiple times, Joe.”

“She has to make it, Frank. She can't die.” His voice caught in his throat. “She can't just…”

“I know.” His brother’s eyes were teary too. He sighed. “Try to rest some more, Joey. Your body needs it.”

“Promise you'll wake me as soon as she's up.” Joe ordered.

“I promise.” Frank nodded, trying to look solemn through the tears.

Joe let himself drift and soon was asleep. He wasn't sure how much longer he woke, hearing voices.

“How do we tell him?” It was his father's voice.

“I don't know.” Frank's voice replied.

“He'll find out on his own soon enough. He'll ask where she is.”

“We can't tell him now, he'll freak, Dad.” Frank argued. “How do we tell him she's gone?”

Karen. They had to be talking about her. Gone? No. She couldn't be dead. They went to all that trouble to keep her alive. Had he been too late to save her? If he had just told them, his sister would be alive. He groaned and the conversation ceased. He heard footsteps enter his room and a gentle hand brushed across his forehead.

“Easy, Joe. You're okay.”

Joe opened his eyes and met his father's gaze.

“Tell me she's not gone.”

Fenton looked away from his younger son, reluctant to answer.

“Tell me!” Joe shouted, sitting up. “Tell me! Is she dead?!”

“Joe, lay down, you're hurting yourself-” Frank warned.

“I don't care! Is my sister dead?!”

“We don't know!” Fenton roared, finally breaking.

Joe froze.

“You don't know? How can you not know?” He accused.

“She's not here.” Fenton mirrored Frank's tick of running a hand through his hair. “We gave her the antidote and when we came back to check if it had taken effect, she was gone.”

“Metz?”

“No. We caught him and his men down the highway after they left you in the boathouse.”

“Then who?” Joe questioned.

“We don't know.” His father sighed. “She could be anywhere.”

The occupants of the room were startled by a phone going off. Frank took his out of his pocket.

“I don't know this number...” He said, answering it and putting a finger to his lips, indicating that his father and brother should stay silent. “Hello, this is Frank Hardy speaking.”

There was static on the other end, then soft tapping. Three short. Three long. Three short. Morse code. SOS.

“Karen?” Frank asked.

Long short. Long long. Y. One short. E. Three short again. S. YES. It was her.

“We're coming.” Frank promised.

Three short. Four short. Four short again. Shh.

The Hardy men fell silent. Listening closely, they could hear clips of voices through the static.

“Where are we… the girl … kill her?”

“No … planning … cliff … for show…”

Joe shared a look with his brother and father. They gazed back, just as intrigued.

“Picture … almost there … get the phone … Hey! The kid has the phone!”

“Don’t worry. She can't say anything, remember?”

The call ended.

“Can we trace the call?” Joe asked quietly, “It was long enough, right?”

His father nodded, already pulling his own phone from his pocket.

“Ezra, it's Fenton. We have a lead on Karen. She called us from her kidnapper’s phone. Yes, I have the number. Feed it to me, Frank.” He said.

“1-369-5873.” Frank rattled off, slowly enough for his father to feed Chief Collig the correct numbers.

“Call me back when you have a trace.”

Joe watched his father hang up and pace to the window, placing his hands on the sill, gazing out.

“Dad…” Frank walked over and placed a hand on his father's shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. “She's going to be okay.”

His phone went off again and he checked it.

“Uh, Dad, you should see this.” He said gravely, turning the screen so his father could see it.

“What is it?” Joe called from the bed.

Frank crossed the room, showing him a photo that had been sent to his phone.

“Karen…” Joe breathed, the air getting caught in his throat.

She was standing on the edge of a cliff, hands bound in front of her, hair blown behind her by a gust of wind. Her tattered hospital gown revealed scratches and scrapes all over her body.

“Road rash.” Frank commented when Joe pointed it out. “She must've jumped out of the car.”

Karen must've been desperate to do that. Joe feared just what was making her that scared.

A text popped up on the screen.

“I’d hurry.”

The three Hardys stood still, none daring to so much as breathe deeply, too worried. They were startled when the phone of the eldest Hardy male began to ring.

“Where is she?” Fenton asked upon answering. There was silence from Mr. Hardy as the chief spoke. “Thank you, Ezra. I'll be there soon.” He turned to Frank, pointing his index finger at his elder son. “Take care of your brother.” He ordered. “I'll be back.”

“You’re not going without backup!” Frank protested.

“Of course not.” His father scoffed. “Chief Collig is going to meet me there. Now watch Joe. Don't leave him alone. After Karen, we can't afford to take chances.”

“Dad-”

“Don't argue with me, Frank Hardy. Take care of your brother. Clear?”

Frank sighed.

“Clear.” He muttered.

Frank and Joe tried making small talk after their father left, but it soon turned to Frank staring out the window, every so often glancing at his phone, and Joe fidgeting on the bed with headphones on, the music not truly distracting him.

When Frank's phone buzzed, hours later, he grabbed it in an instant.

The message was from their father.

“Karen safe.”

Frank sighed in relief and relayed the message to Joe, who copied the motion. A few hours later, their father came into the room again, and the boys reacted, Frank standing and Joe sitting up.

“How is she?” They inquired, voices overlapping in worry.

“She'll recover.” Their father assured them. “They're treating the rash now.”

“Can she talk yet?” Joe asked.

“No. Apparently, the effect wasn't vocal chord paralysis, but an over tightening of the trachea. She won't be able to talk for several days. Maybe even a few weeks.”

“Poor Karen.” Frank breathed.

“At least she figured out how to warn us.” Mr. Hardy avowed. “She's much better off for it.”

His sons nodded. A nurse entered the room with Chief Collig on her heels.

“Here they are, sir.” She told him, leaving the room.

“Provided Metz gets out, we’ve set up three men to follow any member of your family at any given time. This should keep them safe, provided they don't ditch their escort.” He looked pointedly at the boys when he said this.

“We won't.” Frank assured him, eyeing Joe.

Joe shrugged.

“No promises.”

Collig laughed.

“I thought you'd say that. So you'll be happy to know that you and Karen especially have four men apeice.”

“Damn.” Joe swore playfully. “How will I ever get away?”

Frank turned to the chief.

“Do you know if Karen's alright?” He inquired.

“She's fine. Resting a few doors down. I was just there. She demanded I fetch one or all of you and/or get her some music.” He chuckled.

Frank nodded, his worries assuaged.

“And the culprits?” He proded further.

“At the station.”

“Who were they?” Joe asked.

“A nurse paid off by the Roulettes and Metz's girlfriend.” Collig replied.

“Is there anything else we should know about?” Fenton queried.

“One of Metz's boys came clean and gave us the location of the rest of his men. They're in custody too.”

The whole room sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Ezra.” Fenton clapped his old friend on the back. “We owe you.”

“Never, Fenton.” Collig shook his head. “You and your children have done this town great service more times than anyone alive can count. Let us help you.”

Fenton smiled.

“Frank,” he said, “There should be a wheelchair in the closet over there. Get Joe loaded up and meet me in Karen's room.”

Frank nodded and did.

“Want me to push you?” He asked his brother.

“Yeah, seeing as I have a grand total of one working hand.”

They smiled at one another and laughed quietly, the older rolling the younger into the youngest's room.

Karen sat on the bed, propped up by several pillows. She had a pad and paper in her lap, explaining how she was able to make demands of Chief Collig. She smiled at Frank and Joe, waving with her right hand, her left resting in her lap, gently entwined with her father's, who was sitting beside her bed.

“You doing okay, sis?” Frank asked.

She nodded.

“Hey,” Joe joked. “Now we might actually have some peace and quiet at home!”

Karen rolled her eyes and scrawled something on her pad that she handed to her father, who chuckled and passed it to the boys.

It read, “Think again.”


End file.
